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I yanked at the padlock feebly, more to give me something to do than anything, as I knew it would be of no use. I was so ready to give up on the day, or on life in general, it wasn’t even funny. I made my way back to the front of the building to check the mailbox for a letter to explain what had happened, and it was then that I caught a glimpse of the bumper of the flashy truck, that I now easily recognized as belonging to Drew.
Shit! He was legit turning into a fucking stalker. I rolled my eyes, grabbed the stack of unopened mail from the box, and tried to duck out of view. I thought I’d been successful until the sound of a horn was ringing around the neighborhood, and I just knew it was him. Fuck my life.
I approached his truck, and banged wildly on the darkened window. He lowered it, with a smugly nonchalant look on his face, that honestly made me want to cave his skull in, but at least he had taken his hand off the horn. Neither my patience nor my frazzled nerves could cope with that sound ricocheting around my head.
“What?”
“What, what?”
“Seriously, don’t test my patience right now. This isn’t that Who’s On First? sketch. Why the hell are you here? You’re like some kind of psycho chauffeur. You need to leave me the hell alone. I mean it. I meant it all the other times before, but honestly my nerves are shot and I can’t be held responsible for my actions right now. So please go the fuck away, so I don’t end the night in lockup.”
“I will go, but not before you tell me what’s going on. Why are you back out here so soon after going inside?”
“Why are you still here to witness it?”
“Don’t deflect. You need to start talking, and fast.”
“Or what?”
“Or I press down on this horn until one of your neighbors calls the cops.” I swore that smug smile was going to be the death of him.
“I came to get my mail. It’s been a few days.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit, look.” I held up the stack of paper for him to see. It was mostly destined to be recycled without a second glance, but there were a few envelopes peeking out that looked like they might hold important information. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
As I said these last words he lurched quickly and snatched the bundle from my hands. Shit shit shit!
“Hmm… What do we have here? ‘Eviction notice.’ He discarded the rest of the mail, and set about opening the letter that was clearly not addressed him.
What was it with these rich arrogant guys who just seemed to think they could go around doing what the fuck they wanted, with no regard for laws, or social customs? I lunged for the window in a feeble attempt to grab the papers back, but was too far away. Drew carried on reading, the letter aloud.
“This is to hereby inform you that following our letter dated August 18th—”
What the fuck? I hadn’t seen any warning letter, but when I thought about it, nor did I often check the snail mail. That was something Dad usually did. Shuffling to the mailbox, and maybe sitting on the stoop a while to chat with whoever might be passing was something he could manage by himself, and meant he got out of the house for a little while, stretched his legs, had a change of scene from staring at the four walls of the apartment, and got some fresh air into his lungs. Or as fresh as the air in Eastchester ever was.
There was a slim chance that the first letter either didn’t exist in the first place, or had been lost or stolen before it reached us. Either that or my dad had seen it and forgotten, or purposely failed to give it to me. Somehow, the latter seemed the most likely.
“—this letter is to formally inform you that your failure to pay your monthly rent for three consecutive months has rendered you in violation of the Lease Agreement. After repeated demands to pay the outstanding amount, and your failure to do so, this letter serves as an eviction notice, and you are hereby requested to vacate the premises. You are given seven days to vacate the apartment.”
Today was the seventh day. What. The. Fuck.
“Okay okay okay, you can stop, I get the idea, never mind the fact that is not actually your letter to read. Mail theft is a federal offense.”
“It is?” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “Well, why don’t you just call the cops then? Seems to me that the fraudster with nowhere to live right now has no bargaining chips in this negotiation.”
“There’s no negotiation. There’s only you hounding me, and me backing the fuck away.” I was seething.
“Well, what’s your plan?” Maybe he really was insane. Why the fuck would I tell him my plan? Assuming of course I had one, which I one hundred percent did not.
“My plan is to mind my own business, and I suggest you do the same.” By the time I’d finished that sentence, I planned to call my landlord and see if I could negotiate my way back into the apartment, given the mitigating circumstances with my father’s health. If not, plan B was to call Rocky, and see if I could crash with her for a few days until I got my shit together.
Admittedly, there were holes in said plan, but what choice did I have at that point? It was the best I could do given that I’d had zero notice of the situation. Or none that I was aware of. I was going to kill my dad myself, if my suspicion about what had happened to the previous eviction warnings was correct. What a fucking mess.
Chapter 13
Drew
